


Bad Reputations

by xevinx



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Anti-Mutant Sentiments, Enemies to... more, M/M, Set during Will’s admission to the BSHCI, Will is an empath/telepath, mutant AU, slowburn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-01-03
Updated: 2018-02-01
Packaged: 2019-02-27 13:52:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 9,971
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13249578
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/xevinx/pseuds/xevinx
Summary: Life as a mutant with empathetic powers in a fearful and ignorant society has never been easy for Will Graham. But when he is framed for multiple murders by Hannibal Lecter, he finds himself set an arduous task: convincing his prejudiced new psychiatrist that not all mutants are as terrible as he believes.And maybe, just maybe...Chiltonisn't all that bad, either.[On hiatus]





	1. Session 1: 2014/11/12

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you to [frederick-chilton-ruined-my-life](http://frederick-chilton-ruined-my-life.tumblr.com) on tumblr for the AU idea post that inspired this fic! (I'm not linking it because spoilers)

Frederick Chilton paced briskly down the main corridor of his hospital, the heels of his Oxfords and the bottom of his cane clicking rhythmically against the concrete floor. He was on his way to the very first session with the most recent addition to his roster of care at the Baltimore State Hospital for Criminally Insane Mutants.

The majority of mutants were sent to rehabilitation centers for misdemeanours that involved misuse of their abilities — or even just any unlicensed use of their abilities at all, if they were classed as high-level mutants. Those who had committed particularly severe crimes and had deeper underlying psychological difficulties ended up in facilities like this one. 

He may well have made a long and rather fruitful career in studying mutants, but Will Graham was the most interesting patient to come through the place in quite a while.

As Frederick stepped into the therapy room and towards the man sat in the middle cell of three, his heart picked up in his chest and he wondered whether that was something that the empath would be able to pick up on immediately.

The truth was that Will _couldn't_  sense that exactly, but it didn't take supernatural abilities for him to sense Chilton's eager anticipation. Through their past interactions, limited as they were, Will had formed a less than favourable opinion of the doctor, and given that he was so rarely wrong about his first impressions of others, he was fairly certain that they wouldn't be reshaped anytime soon.

Frederick placed his clipboard down on the lone free chair in the room and pulled it over to face Will directly, as well as guiding it a few feet further backwards. Taking the clipboard in hand again, he finally sat down and pulled a pen from his breast pocket.

"Nervous, are we Doctor?" Graham stared his psychiatrist down. "I can... _smell it_ from all the way over here. Keeping your distance won't do much good."

"Using your powers in a feeble attempt to intimidate me. Do you honestly think that no one has tried this on me before?"

Chilton's nostrils flared as he moved to cross his legs, trying his very best not to seem fazed in any way.

Meanwhile, Will ignored his words outright. "Nervous and... _exhilarated_. Wow. Well, I'm flattered."

Frederick's eyes narrowed and he pushed his lips out into the tiniest of pouts. _Yes,_ he was excited, undeniably attracted to the idea of getting his metaphorical hands on Will Graham, testing him, picking him apart. _So sue him._  This was an unquestionably high profile case and there could be no dropping the ball in this matter.

He knew that he needed to remain resilient in the face of the countless mind games that Graham was undoubtedly going to throw his way. So Frederick was alert and attuned.

"Where should we begin?" he wondered, rolling the top of his cane in small circles absentmindedly. "How are you feeling today, Will?"

"How am I feeling?" he echoed bitterly. _Betrayed, manipulated, lost, broken. Utterly broken._ "Why are we doing this?

"Court mandated therapy is part and parcel of your sentencing to this institution." Chilton cocked his head to one side. "You know that, Will."

"But I'm a _mutant."_ He rolled the word around his mouth. "I know that one simple fact was enough to have me written off as a one-dimensional menace in your books."

' _Written off'_ despite the fact that he hadn't even been sentenced yet; he was still pending a trial. Fair trials were a myth for moderate-to-high level mutants like Graham; they seemed not to be worthy of being seen as innocent until proven guilty — in the eyes of the law and close to everyone who enforced it.

Frederick smiled, allowing himself to seem half-amused. "There was quite the  _wealth_ of evidence against you, too."

In that moment Will couldn't muster the great strength he would have required to address the mountain of evidence against him, because it really was damning to the eyes of any reasonable observer. It would have fallen on deaf ears anyway so he chose to start small, attacking Chilton directly. He was understandably frustrated after all, pushing on _angry_ , and that was an easy mark.

"I know how you see me. You want to... _pick me apart._ That's what you do to all of us. Pick us apart in an attempt to understand how we work, only for your own notoriety and so that you can manipulate us to get what you want. We're nothing but odd specimens to you. Your sense of superiority is so ridiculously inflated by –"

"Leave the psychoanalysis to me, please, Mr. Graham." 

Having heard quite enough of that Chilton rolled his eyes, determined to remain unflappable — or at least seem that way. After all, he had a precedent to set there, no way was Graham going to the better of him. 

He had gathered from the few notes that Hannibal Lecter had shared with him that Will’s abilities were triggered by eye contact. Lecter had classed him as an empath branching into low-level telepathy. Although they were barred outright from most... _sensitive_ fields, mutants that worked in anything close to those were compelled to attend regular therapy.

That was how Will Graham's story had begun, with his enforced sessions with Dr Hannibal Lecter — because in spite of the FBI's strict no-mutant policy, Jack Crawford had pulled the necessary strings to obtain permission for Will to consult for his team at the BAU.

"Do you seriously believe that I am going to be open and honest with _you?"_ Will scoffed. "After..." he spoke through gritted teeth, "after being betrayed by my previous psychiatrist, and knowing plenty about  _your_ recent history..."

He was talking about the whole mess with Abel Gideon, and as much as Frederick tried not to allow it, that hit a raw nerve. But what intrigued him the most was the way that Graham continued to point his finger in Hannibal Lecter's direction. _What did he do to him, was there any semblance of truth behind the accusations?_ Hannibal did tend towards unorthodox methods of therapy, that much was known.

But Frederick shook that line of questioning out of his mind; unorthodoxy was often necessitated by the eccentric nature of mutant powers. And it definitely wasn't the time to entertain Will's outlandish claims, but to make him understand that it was in his best interest to cooperate with his therapy.

"We are not the enemy, Will. You have been your own biggest enemy of late. Doctor Lecter, and now myself, have only ever wished to shield you from yourself. From your dangerous true nature."

"You know _nothing_ about my true nature."

Chilton shrugged, replying: "No, of course not. I am only a leading expert in the field and the administrator of this institution due to sheer luck." At that, he even went so far as to snicker. "You will have to do _much_ better than that to get under my skin, Will."

"Now _that_ is a challenge I will accept, Doctor Chilton."

Any means to deflect from the discussion of his own tragic story was most welcome in Will's eyes. He had already been fooled once by Hannibal's charms and he was not about to be fooled again, _manipulated_ again by another ruthless and unforgiving psychiatrist. He didn't hold Frederick Chilton in higher regard but the swift pace of their back-and-forth thus far suggested that this was going to be quite the match. 

"If by that you mean getting under my skin in a _literal_ sense," huffed Chilton, "then I'm afraid it is an impossibility. No, nothing but these handcuffs and bars for you."

"We'll see about that." That wasn't _supposed_ to come out as a threat. What Graham meant was that his being innocent would count for something, sooner or later — he had to hold onto that, hold onto the hope of release or he really would lose his mind. "I won't be in here very long."

"You really have an answer for everything, hmm?" Frederick realised aloud. The doctor's gaze was daring, just as much as the gaze that Will returned was piercing. "Although as I understand it, you lacked any answers whatsoever until your arrest, did you not? It seems convenient for you to conjure up incriminating 'memories' about your previous treatment and plead the framing defence now."

Perhaps it wasn't routine procedure to act in such a harsh and abrasive way towards a patient right from the get go, but that was far from the worst things to happen to criminally offending mutant in facilities more uncaring than Frederick's own. No one was particularly concerned with upholding the human rights of high-level mutants considering the frequency at which they tended to commit serious crimes. It was at best, a grey area. A _very messy_ grey area.

 _Fuck_ , Chilton realised with a start, he had been silent for too long, hadn't he. He was well aware that he needed to be careful around Will Graham, he needed to be really careful. He had to watch his body language, control his facial expressions and most importantly every last word that left his mouth. There was no room for mistakes there. And yet somehow that only added to the excitement of having Graham under his _exclusive_ care for the foreseeable future.  _Too bad, Lecter._

Frederick tapped his foot impatiently. "Are going to have any sort of reasonable conversation here?"

Will lacked the resolve for any more of this taunting, although he'd have been damned if he let his inner vulnerability show. He was thoroughly exhausted, tortured by the relentless haunting of recently uncovered memories and also troubled by those still partly buried somewhere in the recesses of his mind. 

"I'm not talking to you anymore," he said loudly, and crossed his arms over his chest like a petulant child, even though at the time it was probably Chilton who was closer to throwing his toys out of the pram, as the expression goes.

"Alright, then." Frederick smirked as if he were inwardly making a hilarious joke at Will's expense, then let out a dry chuckle. "In that case, you will only have the cold walls of your cell to spin your tales to for the time being. This is _your_ loss, Mr. Graham, not mine."

"Good try," replied Will, but in a way that made it plainly clear that he did _not_ think it was in fact a 'good try' on Chilton's part to get him talking. His voice was soaked with such intense patronisation that the doctor came dangerously close to snapping the $400 pen that he held in his hands.

There was no use in beating a dead horse, and it was evident that Graham had chosen to unwaveringly evade his every question on that particular day. _Another time it would have to be._

"I will see you in two days for our next session. My advice? It would do you well to take a different approach that time around." Frederick leaned his weight on his cane to help him stand up and before continuing, tone as self-conceited as ever — "I believe that it will be immensely freeing for you to have a respite from putting up your poor, misunderstood, _innocent_ front. Doctor Bloom may have fallen victim to that act, but it will do you no good here." 

With that, Chilton cantered over to the door leading out of the room, and Will's blood boiled as he watched him go, sat trapped in that ridiculous cage himself like some sort of animal.

"Oh I'm damned if I do, here, and damned if I don't!" Graham exclaimed with a sudden burst of fresh irritation. "There's no winning."

The doctor spun back on his heels when he reached the doorway. He couldn't resist having the last word on the matter, as petty as that may have been. "You, winning? No. That ship has long sailed. But... damage control is still a possibility. So you should carefully consider what I have said to you today."

This session had not exactly gone to plan, perhaps none quite would, but Chilton was more determined than he might ever have been before.

_Until next time, Graham._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So.. I'm back at it again with another multichapter, ChillyWilly definitely owns my soul by this point.  
> As you can probably tell, this is going to be a pretty slow slowburn, which I can't apologise for because writing the boys at peak sassiness is just terribly fun...


	2. Session 2: 2014/11/14

Frederick gave it two whole days — _52 hours_ — and that was difficult enough; he simply couldn't resist trying another session with Graham before the weekend. Having the empath under his own roof was a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity, one that spiked his blood and left his palms itching for new writing material. He wasn't going to let it go to waste.

Meanwhile each day felt endless to Will, with all of his hours spent caged in his dark, dank 8-by-10. Not that he was usually the type of person that greatly minded being alone — much the opposite — but the thoughts that gave him company now were slowly chipping away at his sanity, or whatever was left of it. Unwelcome flashbacks transported him back to his own house, under the influence of a seizure and Hannibal's abuse as he set about framing him in his sick, twisted way. In the walls of his mind he was just as helpless as the first time around when it came to defending himself.

So when he was collected by a guard and escorted to the therapy hall to meet with his psychiatrist, it was no surprise that Graham dragged his feet, anxious and cautious of not allowing the veil masking his vulnerability to slip.

"I don't want to be here," he insisted, voice surprisingly even as his gaze followed Chilton's entrance into the room and subsequent saunter to the middle of it.

Will's words were ignored entirely until Chilton had settled on the hard chair already in its desired position and opened his conference folder.

"Good afternoon to you too. I had an idea for what we should address –  _discuss_ , in this session. I want us to begin to explore the way that you seem uncomfortable with your powers."

"What an _astute_ observation, Doctor."

Frederick just knew that he was going to come to hate that biting sarcasm. In fact, he was probably already there.

"You really are _incredibly_ defensive. Evasive, one might say. But you are _not_ entirely in tune with your abilities, I am right on the mark there. And I believe that it has been this way for a very long time."

Will scoffed, determined to wipe that persistent smug expression off of Chilton's face in one way or another.

"Have a pat on the back, then," he said, a ripe bite of disdain in his voice. "But _Christ,_ wouldn't you be? Wouldn't you be if those so-called 'powers' ruined your life?" _Or never really let you have one in the first place._ "Powers. I _loathe_ that word. It's a burden, is what it is. Being the way that I am is nothing short of a curse."

As much as Will didn't want to bare himself to Chilton there was _some_ credit due to the psychiatrist; he was all that bad at pulling words out of his patients' mouths, even if they weren't of the particular nature that he desired. It was better than nothing; every little interaction with Graham would contribute to the overall picture that he would gradually paint of his psychological state.

"So much _anger_." Frederick tutted. "It seems as though, fundamentally,  _acceptance_ is a rather sizable part of what you need to work on," he concluded, scrawling away on the lined pad of paper in his conference folder. "Acceptance of your powers and the unfortunate actions and circumstances that they have led you to. Alright, then."

When done writing crossed his arms over his lap, pen still in hand.

Will sighed right from the bottom of his chest, making no attempt to hide that show of resistance. Acceptance was far from his biggest problem. It didn't even breach the top ten, as far as he was concerned.

"Therapy doesn't work on me," he proclaimed in a monotone

Chilton humoured him, head tilted to one side in perfect imitation of a listening attitude. "No?"

"I know all the little tricks and games."

"Is that so?" A lopsided smirk played on his lips. "You know, I must admit that I find it rather interesting, Will, the way that you act as though therapy is an _obstacle_ for you to either dodge or overcome. It speaks an awful lot to your mindset."

"With all due respect, Doctor Chilton –" _by which he meant little to none_ – "get back to me about that once you have as haunting an experience with therapy as I have –"

"That is entirely understandable," the doctor interjected, and Will's stoic demeanour cracked — only momentarily, until Chilton clarified himself. "Your... previous psychiatrist patently failed to understand your... tendencies, but I plan to achieve what our dear Doctor Lecter –" he quirked a brow – "could not."

This was Frederick's chance to prove to every single person that fawned over Hannibal Lecter that he himself was actually the more competent of the two mutant psychiatrists, the truly deserving recipient of their acclaim, awards and awe. Will Graham was going to be his golden goose.

A short, disgruntled noise escaped Will's mouth and echoed through the high walls of the room. "Oh, Doctor Lecter achieved _plenty_. Who knows how long I will be trying to undo his effects on my mind. It's already _scrambled_ enough for me to risk jeopardising it yet again, this time with you."

"I am all you have, Will."

The truth of Chilton's words rung in his ears, excruciatingly undeniable. Understanding that was what left Graham so _stuck_ in his despair. The relationships he had built with those he had come to consider his true friends: Alana Bloom, Jack Crawford and Beverley Katz — it all counted for nothing now. They saw him as a killer and Will had no way to undo that, nor any way to remove it from his mind. Each of them had visited him once since his admission to the hospital, and when he looked in their eyes all that he heard in each of their minds was: _'You did it. You killed all of those people.'_

It was in the middle of one of Chilton's self-righteous rambles that Will tuned back into the room, hearing:

"– apprehensions are unfounded. I certainly do not intend to  _fiddle_ with your mind but to observe and document. Don't forget, the community really is woefully short of material on your sort of... _thing."_

Will looked up, meeting Frederick's gaze straight on for what was probably the first time since he had been admitted to the BSHCIM. The doctor was severely misguided, there was no doubt about that, but it also became apparent to him that Chilton truly believed the words that emerged from his mouth. That he wished to study and understand Graham's condition — and _not_ to provoke it, _not_ to wind him up like a toy and watch him go berserk as Hannibal Lecter had.

This provided some relief to Graham, but only very little. When push came to shove, actions would matter more than intentions, he knew that well.

"Will? Just checking that I still have your undivided attention."

"Is there anyone else here?" he deadpanned.

"For all of your – _disrespect_ , I am _trying_ to help you. To save you from yourself. Doctor Lecter may have failed in his attempts at curtailing your destructive urges, but I hold every hope that we will find a way."

As he read between the lines, that declaration grated on Graham's nerves perhaps more than anything else Chilton had said to him thus far, dissolving any shred of peace of mind that he had been clinging onto previously. He was already aware of what kind of practices were routine in places like the BSHCIM.

"Firstly, my abilities are not _equatable_ with the 'destructive urges' that you have manufactured on my behalf. Christ, you only just said that I needed to aspire to _acceptance_ ," he spat, venom lacing his words. "Which is quite the hypocritical statement when you intend to quash those very abilities.  When it comes to mutants with mental divergences, all that you preach, all of you from up on your genotypical pedestals, is _suppression_."

Society as a whole never saw high-level mutants as being redeemable, not beyond childhood. It was like as soon as the clock hit the age of eighteen, they were out there alone, trying to survive in a world that was set up against them in almost every way, not one in which they could excel with the use of their abilities. No, they were seen as a force to be culled or controlled, never corrected. And certainly never embraced.

With anger bubbling in his chest Will went on, not allowing Chilton to get a word in edgewise. "You run tests to your fill and then it's all sedation, the persistent quieting of mutants so until they are left as only shells of the people they were! You can't suppress the abilities specifically, so you just suppress the people who bear them, _completely_."

"Are you quite done?" asked the doctor jadedly, tapping the top of his cane with the hand that held it. "Done sticking it to the proverbial man? Because you are _still here,_ none of your words will change that."

He wasn't unsettled even though Graham was correct in his assessment of 'the system', because he was also far too idealistic in his condemnation of it. Suppression tended to be more straight-forward for the more conventional, _physical_ mutant powers and most often came in the form of medication. But methods of combating supernatural mental abilities were significantly more difficult to develop, explaining the lack of any textbook treatment procedures for mutant psychiatrists to follow. That didn't mean that suppression was impossible in those cases, it just required... _creativity_.

And _yes,_ perhaps came at a slight cost to their frames of mind, but it was _necessary_. All treatment came with its risks.

"Surrendering their powers is the only way that high-level mutants _can_ live out their lives. And when I spoke of acceptance, I meant acceptance of your _past_ misdeeds, and acceptance that your own powers are a hazard that _must_ be curbed."

Jaw clenched in inexpressible frustration, Will shook his head from side to side. How on Earth had he, only _seconds_ earlier, felt a sense of calm with the knowledge that Chilton wasn't intending to play with his mind like Lecter had? Because that didn't mean that he was any different to all the rest of them, caring more about using Will for his own ulterior motives than helping him in any earnest way. Will didn't require any use of his empathetic abilities to understand his psychiatrist's shallow desires.

"I know you think I'm your golden ticket, but ineptly evaluating my condition and writing baseless journal articles about it won't earn you integrity," Graham snarled. "Sure, you're the  _number one_  in this place but that doesn't really command the respect of your peers, now does it? That's what you  _crave."_

His conclusion was spot on, just as he expected. The field that he worked in wasn't exactly a _passion_ for Chilton, and far from a vocation. He had only pursued a career in mutant psychiatry because he thought it would be a niche specialisation, a field that he could come to dominate more easily than those better studied and longer established. And niche it was; mutants only represented one in a million of the general population, a _tiny_ fraction.

The Baltimore State Hospital for Criminally Insane Mutants did actually define the field on the East Coast, and yet the praise of his peers still evaded Frederick Chilton completely. That was mostly down to the fact that the outside world — including that of psychiatry — liked to pretend that mutants didn't exist. As long as they were locked up and the shadow of their presence largely absent from society, the general population lived in blissful ignorance of the challenges that the mutants' existence posed.

With the only exception to this being the irritating, ever present interest in _Hannibal Lecter's_ insights and analyses; obviously a real kick in the teeth for Frederick. Aware of that fact, Will made no attempt for subtlety in trying to establish Lecter as a mutual enemy of them both.

"It's too bad Hannibal seems to have a _monopoly_ on mutant psychiatry around here. The jealousy must run through your veins by this point."

"Very impressive, Will," he replied, consciously steadying his breaths to settle his composure and not seem fazed. "Now, are you able to apply such insight to your _own_ actions? Can we talk about the murders? Let us begin at the most logical place. Garrett Jacob Hobbs. Was he indeed... the first?"

Oh, _smooth._

"Garrett Jacob Hobbs' death was not a murder."

"No, but it happened at your hands. _And_ it was a catalyst. As was his daughter, I believe — to _both_ of you."

"To _both_ of us?"  _Could Chilton possibly have been referring to Hannibal, too?_

"Yes, Hobbs and then you." 

_Of course not._

Frederick furrowed his brows in question. "Why is that? What was it about...  _Abigail_ , I believe her name was?"

The subject of Hobbs was one thing, but Abigail was far beyond the boundaries of what Will was willing to discuss.

"I'm not talking about her."

"Because you haven't come to terms with the fact that you hurt her. She placed her trust in you and you –"

" _I didn't_. Do it. Hannibal  _framed_ me." Will had to reinforce that fact in his own mind as much as he felt the need to stress it to Chilton, because Lecter really had done a number of his perceptions of reality and his own culpability.

"Your weak lies will gain you absolutely nothing here, Will," Frederick said shortly, feeling robbed of the minor breakthrough that he'd hoped they had been approaching.

"They aren't lies! If you just _listened_ to me for a minute –"

"Will, save your breath." Chilton rolled his eyes so hard that Will could have sworn that his pupils completely disappeared. "And my time."

 _If nothing else,_  Graham thought, _at least that put an end to their session._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have good news!  
> Writing is going well so my plan is to update this fic regularly, roughly once a week (alternately with the other Hannibal fic I have in progress, _A Way To Heal_ )


	3. Session 6: 2014/11/24

Two weeks in, Will had spent the bulk of his past few sessions with Chilton using his powers to mock and humiliate the man, playing on his fears, insecurities, loneliness, the lack of respect he received from his peers.

He didn't enjoy it, not at all. Forced to hold eye contact to maintain an intimidating presence, Will found himself in a catch-22 situation where he inescapably felt the humiliation as if it were his own. But there was no other way he could find to make it through the sessions with his mind still in one piece. Offense was the best defense that he had.

On the other hand, Frederick Chilton was nothing if not persistent. Even under siege he had pressed Will harder and harder, with hopes that he would give way soon. Meanwhile, schooling his own microexpressions had proved near impossible, much to Will's benefit and Frederick's chagrin.

On the day of their sixth session together, Frederick made the regrettable mistake of rushing into the therapy hall to meet his patient whilst there were certain — _other things_ on his mind.

"You're late, Frederick."

"Yes, I am aware of that. I didn't realise you had any other plans, Will."

The guards had brought Will up to the room some twenty minutes earlier, or around-about twenty minutes earlier — he wasn't yet used to judging the passage of time in that place. Each minute seemed to stretch on for an age.

" _You_ do have plans, though," he observed, gaze wandering over his psychiatrist. "You're nervous, skittery even. Concerned about... a board meeting?"

Chilton remained silent but the way that his lips twisted into a scowl spoke volumes.

"Something to do with a mutual friend of ours, Abel Gideon. Oh." With everything else on his mind, Will had forgotten all about the former patient at the BSHCIM, but it came back now and kicked him in the back. "If he's to be believed, then you have quite the propensity for getting into your patient's heads, too."

Displaying more bravery than Will would readily credit him with, Chilton looked right into his eyes then, daring. " _Do_ you believe that?"

He didn't. _Fuck_.

"I don't view you as being intelligent enough to have influenced him in the way that he claimed. So no."

Even if his reasoning wasn't to Chilton's liking, Will's conclusion was correct — rather than the reverse, Frederick was the one that who had been manipulated by Gideon. Misdirected, so far as to the point where his life had been seriously endangered because of it. Allowing himself to be convinced that Abel was the Chesapeake Ripper was a mistake that the doctor had paid for dearly and in his view _disproportionately_ , and one he couldn't wait to put behind him for good.

The doctor scoffed and rolled his eyes skyward. "I thank you for your confidence, Will."

At the crux of it this whole board meeting was merely a formality, but it still brought the memories back, and that was what left him so on edge. Memories of half-consciousness, of puncturing pain and of cradling his own bloody, sticky guts in his bare hands, unparalleled in the vivid trauma they sparked within him.

Among them, a vision of Gideon sitting in the same seat that Graham now occupied — a year or so prior — flashed in Frederick's mind, and a chill ran down his spine, setting the hairs on the back of his neck upright as he shivered with dread. 

The pain that he bore wasn't only his own. He may not have been directly responsible, but that didn't mean that Chilton didn't feel guilt. For the nurse that had been killed to some extent because of his own gullibility.

It may not have been the most effective way to cope but filled with a newfound urgency he had made it his mission, even more so than before, to prove his worth as a mutant psychiatrist. Perhaps mostly so that he believed it for himself.

There was no way that he would let Will see that, though, no way in hell that he would let the toughened mask that he wore crack.

One patient had hurt him enough for a lifetime. It was high time he diverted the conversation; retaliation was in order.

"...Did you sleep well last night?"

That was a baiting question if there ever was one, and having kept his wits about him, Will understood that.

"Worried about how I'm sleeping under your care, Doctor Chilton? A new mattress would do me _wonders_ , I'll tell you that. Mine's a little... lumpy."

"Hmm, but as I understand the matter, a lumpy mattress is the least of your sleep-related problems. I have recently become aware of the night terrors you're experiencing. Why don't we discuss those?"

"Because I refuse to."

Graham truly gave off the air of an abused puppy. Defensive, on edge and ready to _bite_ at any moment. 

His resistance was tiring to come up against, pushing Chilton ever closer to the end of his tether. But he persisted and made another in a long line of plays for Will's cooperation.

"I would strongly advise that you begin to talk to me in earnest, or... well, I can't say what might feature in the pre-trial report that I am required to send off to the judge soon, certifying whether or not you are fit to stand trial."

"So you're not below making threats. I really shouldn't be surprised."

"That was not an empty threat, Will. Only the truth." With the knowledge that Frederick deeply believed what he was saying, Will listened to him continue with an opening mind. "If you are open and forthcoming, it may give us a chance to see your... human side."

"My _human_ side?" Shockingly, for all of the time that he had spent wearing Chilton down, trying to shatter the doctor's composure, something snapped inside of Will instead. His patience vanished into thin air. "These words that all of you use: mutants, powers, the slurs like abnormal and inhumans, they're intended to _dehumanize_ us. Intended to make us seem as though our... divergences can only ever be something to be feared."

"Of course they are to be feared!" Frederick said, emotively throwing his hands in the air as if he couldn't possibly take Graham's claims seriously.

 _"Always?"_ Will huffed. "For a psychiatrist supposedly specialised in the nuances of mutant abilities you really are all too willing to make horrendous blanket statements. If you were actually in any way _competent_ you would take the time to understand that my condition is not like many others, anyway."

Frederick pouted and waited a few moments before speaking, his carefully worded response grating on Will’s nerves just as he had intended. "There are those that would count your abilities as an even greater asset than any physical strength."

"It's not a  _strength_. It never has been."

"Not a strength to know exactly what the person stood before you is thinking?  In every situation where you might need to obtain... _something_ from said person?"

"I don't hear what they think as much as I feel what they feel. And I think you're also under the misconception that I can turn this off. I can't I know some mutants possess a level of intrinsic control over the application of their abilities, but I don't!"

" _Alright_ , there's no need to raise your voice. You won't allow me to test you, so I can only be expected to understand as much as you share with me, and I think it is fair to say that you have not exactly been forthcoming in these past weeks. This is a two-way street."

Will found himself surprisingly unable to disagree with that line of reasoning, and that was the last straw that allowed him to finally reach a conclusion that he had been approaching for a while now.

He realised that being so hostile towards Chilton, as much as he valued the defense it endowed him with, wasn't going to get him anywhere. Appearing as the dark and manipulative person that everyone already thought him to be wasn't going to assist him in trying to prove his innocence.

It was time to take up a different approach.

But before he could reply, Chilton continued: 

"I have understood some of what you think anyway, as evasive as you have been. Everything single thing that you do or say speaks to your internal state of mind. I understand very well your disdain towards myself and this institution. You despise the work I do here. You believe that I vilify the mutants under my care, but they have done a good enough job of doing that by themselves. The statistics do not lie."

"You have no idea how _this_ feels. The lives that we're forced to live either out there or trapped inside — it isn't difficult to see how they might be enough to drive one to madness. We might be mutants but we're human beings, too!"

"Highly dangerous ones, at that. Show me a high-level mutant around here who hasn't committed a serious crime or posed a significant threat to the lives of others."

"I expect that I myself am not a valid answer to that question in your eyes."

"You are not."

Will heaved in a lungful of air, hoping that it would bring courage and patience with it. "The odds have been stacked against me my entire life. It was bound to happen, that's what everyone thinks. _Fuck,_ that's even what I thought when I was arrested. _About time._ I've felt like a ticking time bomb since I was a child and so I really thought I had done it."

There was something new in his voice, something refreshingly honest and bare. Frederick found sympathy seeping into his mind and wasn't sure what on Earth it was doing there — but then Will went on.

"He'd pulled the wool over my own eyes too."

Chilton let out a faint, disapproving hiss. " _'He'_ being Hannibal Lecter?"

_"Yes."_

"And here I thought we were beginning to make some progress. A prestigious doctor who consults for the FBI, you are seriously trying to tell me that _he_ is a murderer?!" 

Perhaps, Will thought then, aiming only to prove his own innocence first would be a more effective strategy than jumping straight to trying to prove Lecter's guilt. "Can I ask you a single question?"

"You may."

"Please explain this ridiculous logic to me, that both you and my supposed friends at the BAU have chosen to adopt. How could my condition have _helped_ me in killing someone?"

That made Chilton pause for thought — but not for too long, he made sure of that. "No one said that your abilities had to have helped you commit those crimes. But they still enabled you, by helping you get away with it for so long. You manipulated Jack Crawford, the other agents, even your own psychiatrist so that you could get away with these crimes. You played to their weaknesses, had them pitying you and eating right out of your hands; it was _your_ manipulation that –"

" _My_ manipulation?" Will gritted out. "I did nothing wrong! I have nothing to hide; it was him! Him who — do you really think that the calculating psychopath that the Copycat Killer has been profiled to be, would be so _careless_  as to be caught in such a messy, _messy_ way?"

If that proclamation made him stop and think for a moment, Chilton tried his absolute hardest to disguise that fact.

Will pushed on, riding a wave of determination. "I – I know he did some things to me that I still don't remember, holding absolute evidence that no one would ever trust me even if I did. He's planned it all from the start, framing me for the copycat murders, and he's getting away with the Ch–" _Chesapeake Ripper murders, too._  Summoning self-control Graham bit back the rest of his words, trying not to let his inner rage explode irreversibly because he knew that wouldn't do him _any_ favours in proving his own rationality.

But _how_ was he to prove in which direction the manipulation had flowed, when all that he had was his word against Lecter's? An unstable mutant, already besmirched with compelling accusations versus a renowned psychiatrist and fully functioning member of the upper echelons of society. The task set out ahead of him felt insurmountable.

Some small part of fate was on Graham's side though, because as if on cue he was presented with a path to navigate through the treacherous situation that he had landed in.

"You are spectacularly stubborn, Will. But if, as you say, you truly have nothing to hide... will you allow me to _test_ you? Will you allow me to run routine procedures that will allow both myself and you to better understand the nature and extent of your powers?"

From where he was sat in that cage-like cell, restrained by bars and cuffs, Will could think of nothing that he had left to lose.

"Fine. I'm all yours, Doctor Chilton."

Frederick's nostrils flared unconsciously at the thought of the myriad revelations that the path they were embarking upon might lead to. He'd always toyed with the idea of writing a book on his most interesting cases, and wouldn't troubled empath and low-level telepath Will Graham just make an _excellent_ chapter or two?

"But I have one condition," asserted Will, pulling Frederick out of his indulgent reverie and back into the room. "Delay my trial, however you can. It's only fair. Say that you haven't yet been able to conclude your assessment of my... situation, of my current mental state. Which is _true,_ anyway," he added in a mutter.

Will knew Chilton couldn't resist that offer; there was no reason for the doctor to be particularly concerned about the trial because Will was already under his care anyway.

"The tests will begin the day after tomorrow, then," he informed him. There was no need to seem desperate, to bring forward their next scheduled session. Chilton could wait two days.

"Good," Will replied. "And then you will _finally_ realise that I'm innocent, that Hannibal has masterminded all of this, that he still is."

Chilton cleared his throat and made a show of checking his watch and shaking his head as he rose to his feet. "This Hannibal Lecter story is going to get old fast, Will."

And yet, deny it as he might, at some point during the duration of that session a seed of doubt had been planted into the doctor's mind. A seed still dormant, but present and primed for growth.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ....So it begins (!)
> 
> Real life is starting to kick my ass a little, but I'm set on trying to persevere with these two fics I have going...  
> 


	4. Session 7: 2014/11/26

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the late update, I came down with the flu a few days ago and while this chapter _should_ have been ready before that, the logistics of a few little things still needed ironing out. I'm still a little drugged up but hopefully it at least makes sense now...

"We will begin with this." Chilton held up a small vial of a nondescript colourless liquid as Will settled in the patient chair beside where he stood.

"That doesn't look ominous at all."

Frederick ignored the backchat, his only outward response a slight pout of his lips. "Sodium amytal, known colloquially as a truth serum, is used frequently in narcoanalytic interviews. The idea is that it should inform me as to your true opinions and recollections of your past experiences."

In his spiel, he neglected to mention the fact that the truth serum's most prolific use was in the interrogation of criminal suspects, but there was no need to psych Will out. Chilton looked on as Will signed the consent form that he had already placed before him, then placed the clipboard aside. The injection was administered with ease, and as he took a few steps backward, waiting for the drug to kick in, Frederick felt as though his _own_ blood was spiking, anticipation sparking through his nerves. 

He was relyng considerably on the knowledge that under the influence of sodium amytal, Graham would be more likely to divulge information that he would otherwise consciously block. This meant that this interview was going to be Chilton's key tool in establishing the credibility of Graham's statements — or dismissing them entirely, instrumental to the forging of the accused's future. _And his own._

"So. I have given the idea some thought, and... if you want to talk about Doctor Lecter so desperately, we shall. You were seeing him before... everything, is that not true? Since the Hobbs... incident?"

Graham's face twitched at the mention of Hobbs, but he soon turned it to stone again.

"It was Jack Crawford's condition for my work with the FBI. A precaution, because of my... mutant status."

"That worked out well, didn't it?" Chilton almost taunted.

Will chuckled dryly, raising his voice a touch in an attempt to inspire persuasion. "No, _it didn't._ That's what I've been trying to tell you. It was him."

Chilton decided to cut to the chase and pose the vital question, subconsciously leaning closer to his patient. "What exactly do you believe he did?" 

By now the sodium amytal had a hold on Will, and he felt acutely aware of it too, but powerless against its effects. A strange haze clouded over his mind, and yet somehow at the same time the case that he had to make came into focus, slowly but surely.

He let his eyes lid over and he was back in Lecter's office, in his usual seat across from him, forearms resting on the arm rest, back straight and mind unsettled. Muddled. 

"I... my memory's patchy, but I remember a strobe light. He was, uh... using some form of light stimulation."

"As do I. A perfectly accepted method for neurotherapy."

Thinking out loud, Will began to speculate. "Wait... could it have induced my seizures?"

"That would only be possible in the mind of a photosensitive epileptic, or one afflicted with a serious ailment such as..."

"Such as encephalitis?"

Chilton's lips twisted into a frown as his mind raced. That was possible, if he thought about impartially. Light therapy could have overloaded his visual cortex. Creating seizures, lost time, perhaps even gaps in his memory.

Will took Frederick's silence as answer enough. "Forget that, let's talk about the encephalitis itself. An esteemed psychiatrist like Dr. Lecter, who had once been a practicing medical doctor, claims that he  _completely_   _missed_  my symptoms, for _weeks_. It advanced to such a serious point, but there were no concerns voiced by him along the way. Does that not strike you as odd?"

He was really getting his claws into Chilton now, and pressed on.

"Dig into his past just a bit and I am sure that you will find that he seems to have a tendency to inspire dangerous behaviour in his patients. More so than can be explained away by coincidence."

There was no need for Frederick to 'look into anything'; Will's words were already hitting their intended mark. The suspicion that everything wasn't as Lecter made it seem was blooming in his mind, because Hannibal had always been so keen to discuss novel or unorthodox methods for the treatment of mutant patients but would listen intently to Frederick's stories while offering little more than encouragement from his own standpoint. Was that because he was mindful of not incriminating himself?

Hannibal Lecter had _not_ framed Will for the Copycat's murders, that idea was still firmly filed under 'ludicrous' in Chilton's mind — but had he _incited_ Graham? That question was much more nuanced and challenging to answer conclusively. In the meantime, he resumed his own line of questioning.

"Will. How would you describe your powers, in one word?"

"Invasive."

"Interesting."

"Relentless, there's another one. All it takes is a bit of eye contact or the quickest flash of microexpressions, whether I like it or not. I _never_ like it. But I suddenly start hearing — do you have any idea how _loud_ it is? All the time, crowding my mind, layer upon layer upon of jumbled-up emotions, this _tangled_ web of –" 

He choked on his words, an unwelcome sob caught in his throat.

It was _horrible_.

"In tense situations, I feel the other person's stress, anxiety, and anger, all of it at my very core, indistinguishable from my own. And it isn't only emotions, or emotional pain. I feel the physical symptoms that manifest as a result of them, not forgetting  _real_ physical pain too. Worst of all, in the most intense cases it doesn't even require the actual presence of the person. That's why crime scenes are the way they are for me.

"And how exactly is that?" Interest piqued further, Frederick pressed Will for more detail. "Describe your thought process at a crime scene."

"Stepping into a fresh crime scene causes me to instantly relive what happened. It's..." he let out a shaky breath, taking a moment to compose himself.  "Right away it's incomparably traumatic, it completely overtakes my mind and I _feel_ their suffering, I feel _every. single. bit_ of what the victims went through and I have to push past that first, _somehow_ , before I can even begin to think about the killer. It isn't any easier from that viewpoint, it is... _so_ difficult."

Even though he hadn't been lying to Chilton before, one favour that the sodium amytal did Graham was that it made him that little bit more forthcoming, more able to openly address the bleakest aspects of his life, especially when consulting for the FBI.

But how could words _ever_ be an adequate vessel for him to express the sheer hopelessness he felt, the formidable force of the emotions that tortured his mind? And how could he convey the fact that he endured all of that, weathered the storms within him so that he could help save people's lives? Tragedy presented itself in the way that he now found himself accused of killing the very people he sacrificed his peace of mind day after day to save.

Graham's words _were_  steadily making a difference though; Chilton was beginning to see just how terrifying his patient's powers were to live with, the unforgiving grip that they had on his mind.

"You know, _fuck,_ it even happens with my _dogs,_ could you believe it. There is nothing more I could wish for than for a bit of silence. A way to turn down the volume which isn't just forcing myself to be so utterly alone."

Clearing his throat of the sympathy that was lodging itself there, Frederick shuffled in his seat, crossing his legs and folding his hands in his lap, determined to regain control of the situation. There was no room for pesky feelings like that in professional matters.

"I seem to remember your giving me nothing short of a _lecture_ on why it was so _very_ _wrong_ to want to suppress mutant powers. Now here you are, telling me you desire exactly that. So, which is it? Or is hypocrisy the latest offence to be added to your charge sheet?"

Will lacked the patience for Chilton's provocations. "First and foremost should be the person's _own will_. Besides, what I want isn't total suppression, it's more complicated than that. I want to have some level of control, the ability to turn it on and off. Because it's horrible sometimes — Christ, _most_ of the time — but other times it can be used for so much _good_. The work that I have done with Jack and the BAU is an example of that. I just want to take ownership of this... _thing_ inside of me."

"You maintain that you have no control over it whatsoever?"

"None," Will emphasised, and knowing that he was speaking under the influence of the truth serum, Chilton was left with no choice but to trust in his assertion. "That's precisely why it meant so much to meet Hannibal. It was the quiet."

"The quiet?" Caught off guard as he was, Frederick's brows drew together, betraying his effervescent curiosity. "What _quiet?"_

"The quiet that I felt around him. It was so freeing to be in the presence of someone whose thoughts and feelings I couldn't read."

"You are claiming that you received _no_ emotional information from Doctor Lecter?"

"Yes, and I wrote it off as nothing more than an anomaly because I was so relieved. Relieved to have met someone I could talk to for extended periods of time about _real things_ without being mentally wrecked by the experience, and I got so wrapped up in it... I should have known sooner."

Respite from the constant onslaught of others' emotions in his company was seen as a blessing when in retrospect, it should have been a giant red flag. 

"You do understand what you are suggesting?" Chilton's first instinct was to disregard Graham's words completely, but on second thought he realised that with his patient under the influence of sodium amytal, the most logical option was for him to believe him. Still, that awareness did little to eliminate the incredulity that soaked his voice as he continued. "The insinuation of your proclamation is that Hannibal Lecter is... a psychopath. That he has no emotions for you to absorb."

"That's... very possible. Or he's a _mutant_ with mental-shielding abilities." _Among many other abilities,_ he thought, but chose not to venture into such perilous waters just yet. "My bet is on... both. But I doubt you'll take my word for that this easily."

Chilton cracked a smile in spite of himself. "Sodium amytal is reliable but I still cannot not settle for your words as the _only_ evidence against him. Which brings us to the next round of tests."

* * * * *

"This machine works like a digital polygraph, although more complicated — it is modified to use physiological cues in order to detect a person's emotional state and uses some of the very latest, cutting-edge technology. Along with traditional on-body measurements of heart rate, blood pressure and electrodermal activity, it will more specifically use the reflection of radiowave signals off your body to monitor your respiration and even minute vibrations caused by blood pulsing through the body. Then it will integrate that information to gauge the general 'class' of emotion that you are feeling."

"It really works?" Will questioned as looked down at himself, slightly intimidated by all the wires and pads hooked up to him and the transmitters aligned to face him, pointing to different parts of body.

"It is perhaps not as _refined_ as your own skills in reading emotions, certainly not branching into _telepathy_ as you sometimes do. But we will use it as aguide."

Over the next half an hour, Frederick played a variety of tapes and measured Will's physiological and emotional responses to them. And sure enough, the correlation to the content of the tapes was incredibly high, indicating a supernatural level of empathy. But could he _control_ it? With the effects of the sodium amytal still in play, Frederick knew from work with previous patients that that if Will _did_ possess the ability to tune down his powers, he wouldn't be able to resist doing so under significant duress — it would happen on a subconscious level.

The tape that he had held back to be the final one was the doctor's trump card. A compilation of videos taken at Copycat Killer crime scenes that he had acquired from forensics at the BAU, and after what had just happened, Frederick was terrified to think of what it might incite in Will, but it needed to be done.

The machine didn't lie, and it only confirmed what Frederick could see by eye, even from metres away. As the tape went on, minute after minute of shots of blood spattered walls and with absolutely no respite, Will became visibly distressed, he began to shake, tears pooling at the corners of his eyes, hands balled into fists as he fought to endure the excruciating pain within him.

It was incredible that simply viewing a video of the crime scene could do that to Will and at first, Frederick could only look on in horror at both his patient and the readings from the machine, frozen in place.

He tried briefly to make the internal argument that Graham's strong reaction could be a consequence of reliving the crimes as he had committed them himself, but... there was no way that the pain wouldn't have been even more intrusive and imposing in person, far too forceful for Graham to actually keep it together long enough to push through with killing his purported victim. Followed by that came the acknowledgement that there was absolutely no evidence of Will holding any control over his powers — only evidence to the contrary, the polygraph readings showing Will experiencing only stronger and stronger emotional responses through the duration of each tape.

It took Chilton a good minute to jump into action, shutting the tape off first and getting to work calming Graham down from his panic attack next. He administered a quick-release dose of anti-anxiety medication that he had brought along with him as a precaution, and tried to get Will to consciously slow his breathing. All the while trying to ignore how deeply the sympathy stirred in his chest, how his heart felt as though it literally lurched. A big glass of water and a few minutes later, with a strange and uncomfortable tension lingering in the air between them, Will seemed somewhat calm again.

Before Frederick even had the opportunity to process the far-reaching implications of the tests he had just conducted, his attention was stolen by a guard entering the room from the far side.

"I told you not to interrupt me," he said shortly, turning on his heels and giving said guard an icy glare.

"It's Doctor Lecter, and he says it's urgent, that you had said you would let him meet with Graham."

 _Had his ears been burning or something?_ Pushing past his initial irritation, Chilton suddenly knew what to do and a lopsided smirk played on his lips as what he considered a rather _ingenious_ idea came to him. Along with the test results, the consequences of Will's innocence on his view of Hannibal Lecter also hadn't sunk in in his mind; it was adrenaline and his quest for the truth that fueled Frederick now.

"You tell me that your powers do not work on Doctor Lecter. Why don't you take this chance to prove it, then? Should I bring him in?"

Seeing Hannibal was the very last thing he wanted, but Will saw the way that Chilton was almost at his tipping point, so close to tumbling into belief. Or disbelief, however one saw it.

"Okay, I'll meet him. But you haven't accounted for the fact that he most likely doesn't even feel the regular emotions that we all do."

" _Alright_ , I will entertain that thought. What do we try, then?"

"You have to _anger_ him somehow, that's the closest thing to a real emotion that I've seen him exhibit. Hannibal hates rudeness."

There was a flaw in that plan. "You won't feel angry just from seeing him?"

"That's a good point. Well, I will. But that will be immediate, an undertone present all throughout our meeting. When _he_ grows angry, for whatever reason, you'll see that it doesn't change how I feel."

"In that case, leave it to me."

Frederick went out to greet Hannibal and put on a show of 'hesitantly' allowing him to meet with Will for a short time, as well as a show of unplugging his patient physically from the emotional polygraph machine in Hannibal's presence. Of course, Lecter didn't know about the transmitters that would still be working, using their wireless signals to gauge his response, and that would be enough.

Chilton had microphones in the therapy hall, _of course,_ so he sat outside with his laptop and listened in. He allowed a minute or so of the two men figuratively tiptoeing around each other and exchanging passive-aggressive metaphorical statements before making his grand entrance right in the middle of one of Hannibal's sentences.

"Visiting hours are over, I'm afraid."

"Doctor Chilton, we are... in the middle of a conversation."

"Rules are rules. I'm _sure_ you understand, Doctor Lecter." Frederick didn't hold back with the false politeness, even accompanied it with a biting smile. "I have to run a tight ship around here." Even he caught the rush of anger that flashed across Hannibal's usually stoic features. "No exceptions."

"I —"

"In fact, I should probably evaluate whether Will should be allowed visitors at all, while in such a fragile state of mind. I will be in touch once I have made my decision."

As soon as Lecter said his reluctant goodbye and left the room with a cold chill in his wake, Frederick bounded over to check what effect it had all had on the measurements of Will's emotions,which was... none. In fact, there was even a slight positive response probably derived from his own happiness at seeing Hannibal getting frustrated.

In that moment, Chilton was finally hit by a overdue wall of shock and odd clarity about what had unfolded over the past hour or so. It all added up to mean two things. 

 _One,_ Will couldn’t possibly have killed anyone, because his powers simply wouldn't have let him; hearing his victim's thoughts, feeling their emotions so profoundly, it would have been like brutally murdering himself, and seeing as Will was truly unable to shut off his abilities it was just _not feasible._  

And _two,_ perhaps even more crucially, Hannibal Lecter was a mutant and a murderer who possessed mental-shielding capabilities or psychopathic tendencies. Despite being surprised at the U-turn he had made over the course of the morning, Frederick was inclined to side with Will's guess that  _both_  of the above were in fact, true.

This changed everything.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So... on the one hand, I've finished writing my other multichapter fic, _A Way To Heal_ which should mean more time to work on this one...  
>  But I have shockingly little of the rest of this fic planned, so outlining time may factor into my update rate too, we'll see how it goes
> 
> Thank you for reading, feedback and kudos are greatly appreciated if you are enjoying the fic!
> 
> come yell at me about ChillyWilly on tumblr [@xevinx](http://xevinx.tumblr.com)


	5. [Hiatus]

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> With a heavy heart, I have to say that I’m not sure I’m going to make it through this fic as I planned.
> 
> It’s hard to explain (and it probably doesn’t make any sense because I haven’t published most of the bits I’m talking about) but I have had a moment of realisation where writing this fic has dredged up certain issues within me that aren’t quite resolved. I had thought it would be a good way to work through some of those issues but others blindsided me and it feels very much like the opposite right now.
> 
> On top of that I think I have begun to develop a rather unhealthy relationship with writing of late, including a pessimistic, jaded attitude and so believe that a complete break from writing and fandom will do me good. If this is much ado about nothing and I get back to writing organically within a matter of weeks, that’d be great but it’s most definitely not something I can count on with the way I’m feeling right now in my current fandoms.
> 
> I can’t say how long I’ll be gone, so I’ll call this hiatus indefinite. ([hiatus announcement on tumblr](https://xevinx.tumblr.com/post/170394017425/))
> 
> Thank you so much for reading, and for your support. I never thought I’d leave my readers hanging mid-WIP like this so I apologise once more.

          

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading, feedback and kudos are greatly appreciated if you are enjoying the fic!
> 
> come yell at me about ChillyWilly on tumblr [@xevinx](http://xevinx.tumblr.com)


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